


the family skeleton

by Noip13



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Day of the Dead, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Letters, Music, Post-Canon, Shoes, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noip13/pseuds/Noip13
Summary: Five ways Miguel stays connected to the dead side of his family, and one way he learns to be close with the living.





	the family skeleton

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [bellachrome](http://bellachrome.tumblr.com/) for betaing!

i.

He doesn’t tell anyone what happened.

At first, everyone is too distracted to wonder how Miguel could have known about Héctor, or Mamá Coco’s lullaby. The family is in an uproar, which is fair, because they didn’t even have the craziest night of their lives to prepare themselves for the shock of Coco's letters. Letter after letter so packed with love that you would be blind to miss it, endless songs--very, very familiar songs--and melodies of heartache and promise, a parade of longing and tenderness so vivid that Miguel sees his Tío Berto crying quietly in the corner over one of the longer letters. Mamá Coco is finally back, and she whispers answers to the questions they ask, creaks out the story to her daughter and grandchildren. She tells them about the songs her Papá used to play for her.

"I don't remember him very well," she says, unhurriedly, to the eager cluster of family that she presides over, "But he always smiled so wonderfully when he played for me, and he had the kindest voice. Sometimes, when Mamá was busy in the workshop, I would close my eyes and I could almost hear him singing the songs in letters. When I was younger, I used to dance to them."

And of all things, it had been her father's song that brought her roaming mind home.

As Miguel's cousins talk among themselves and with Mamá Coco, the adults try to figure out what to do next in a messy rush of chatter, many of them chugging coffee to keep themselves awake--Miguel does feel guilty about making his family worry, but considering everything that happened last night, he wouldn’t take back anything he did. He watches his father laugh with Coco, whose eyes are clear and sharp for the first time in months. Abuelita splits her time between hushed conversations with her mother and scanning the letters from her grandfather, the great traitor, with her characteristic fervor.

For breakfast, Abuelita and the other adults are too busy and scattered to cook. Instead, someone heats up a bunch of hastily-wrapped leftovers from a Día de los Muertos celebration that never really got started, and everyone takes a plate and mills around, talking about this strange turn of events...though to be honest, eating dinner anywhere but sitting at the table is probably one of the weirdest things that’s happened to Miguel today.

He’s sitting alone on the couch, scarfing down a bowl of pozole--running around in the land of the dead really works up an appetite, and he hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday--when Abuelita strides up to him, oddly quiet.

“How’s the food, mijo?” she asks.

He struggles to gulp his mouthful of soup down so he can answer her. “Great! Thanks, Abuelita!”

“Good, good,” she says. She watches him eat for a moment, the two of them strangely alone in the chaos of their family swirling around them. Over at the table, Rosa piles a plate high with Papá Franco's favorites, then takes it to where he sits next to Coco. He tips his hat appreciatively as she hands him his meal. “Miguel?” Abuelita starts, then hesitates again, before finally asking, in a soft voice he’s only ever heard her use with Mamá Coco, “Where did you learn that song?”

Miguel pauses, looking down into his half-empty bowl. What can he say? He can’t say anything about the Land of the Dead, not really. It’s one thing to say that you believe in the spirits of your ancestors like a good kid, but to talk about how you cursed yourself stealing from the dead, met a few celebrities _and_ all of your dead family members, saw a bridge of marigolds and watched a man fade into a second death, almost died a dozen times, rode an alebrije...any of that stuff? It’s the kind of thing that always gets people called crazy and sent away on TV, not to mention that it would probably come out just a touch blasphemous.

And honestly, he doesn’t really want to really talk about it. He lost his jacket, he learned Coco’s lullaby and the truth of de la Cruz and his family, he _knows_ , down to his bones, that what happened to him was real and important and meant something. But no one else in his family needs to learn how important family is. As for the family curse, that’s been broken by Héctor and Coco. De la Cruz will be ruined if they share the letters with the outside world. Miguel doesn’t need to try to convince people that he also murdered Hector, or tried to kill Miguel. Maybe...this can be Miguel’s. At least for now. Maybe one day, they’ll need the story, the way Miguel did. Right now, they don’t.

For now, he keeps this little strand of memory, his own personal marigold petal, and buries it deep within his heart, right next to the music. 

“It came to me, Abuelita,” he finally says, looking back up at her. “I saw our ancestors last night, and they told me what I needed to know.”

Abuelita smiles, so hugely and widely that the crinkles around her eyes and mouth deepen in a way that makes it obvious how they got there in the first place. “You did a very good job of listening then, Miguel. Thank you.”

 

 

 

ii.

Miguel can’t see spirits.

He really, really wishes he could. The next year, when el Día de los Muertos comes around, he volunteers to set up the ofrenda--to the proud smiles of his parents, which is definitely a nice bonus. He puts every photo up with care, and places the frame with Héctor, Mamá Coco, and Máma Imerelda's photo at the very top, to make up for lost time. He sets down the usual sugar skulls and pan de muerto, he lights the candles, but before he scatters the marigold petals as the final step, Miguel closes his eyes and wishes harder than he ever has ever wished for anything in his life that he’ll be able to see Héctor and everyone else.

He wishes he’ll see Mamá Coco.

He’s happy, knowing she’s in a place where she can be with her father and mother, finally. Somewhere she can properly think and move, her skeleton free of her tired old flesh, somewhere Héctor can finally hug her--but he still misses her. And even if he only knew Héctor and Mamá Imerelda and the rest of the other half of his family for a night, he misses them, too. And anyway, they’re _familia_ and he loves them and he hates being apart from them for so long.

So he stands at the candle-lit ofrenda, holds the marigold petals close to his face, and focuses on what he wants: The skeletal faces of his ancestors, outlined in the gold-orange of these petals, to appear before him. He whispers the promise he made, repeats it to himself, prays to God, to Santa María, to anyone.

He doesn’t see them.

They’re there, of course. Including Héctor. He’d triple-checked all the photos, pointing them out again and again to his new sister. They have to be there. But when he performs his new song for his family, he only sees the living.

Honestly, he doesn’t know why he’d expected something different. He had fulfilled his promise. There isn’t anything tying him back to that place. No curse, no conditions, just the same eventuality that will lead him there one day, same as everyone else.

 

 

 

iii.

He figures out a way to stay in touch, anyway.

Only weeks after they return from the Land of the Dead, Dante begins to disappear, in a way he never has before. Miguel will walk by Dante’s usual trash can on the way to busk in the plaza--a new and exciting practice his parents now permit him to do on weekends for spending money--or go to school, and Dante will be missing from his years-long home. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out where Dante is going, and Miguel is happy. He has all the proof he needs that everything that night had been real, after all--but still, it’s nice to think that there’s still a tenuous connection between him and the dead half of his family. Hopefully, they like him as much as Miguel does. He imagines Dante giving Mamá Imelda a good licking, and can’t help but laugh at the idea. When Dante comes back, Miguel always greets him with a nice scratch and plenty of food.

“You’re being good to them, right?” Miguel asks one time, as Dante enjoys dinner from his new food bowl. “No biting?” Dante flicks his long tongue out of his dinner and begins to lap furiously at Miguel's face, and Miguel grins as he unsuccessfully tries to pull himself away. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked!”

And that’s the end, of it, or at least it had been, until this new Día de los Muertos. Now, Miguel has confirmation that he really won’t be seeing his dead relatives until he dies. He’s grateful that he has something to look forward to rather than falling into the existential terror of wondering what happens after death he sees gripping some of the more angst-ridden teens at his school (Miguel has decided to save his own existential crisis for when he’s already in the Land of the Dead, because the Final Death is when he’ll actually need it), but still, not a huge help for now. 

But he still has one connection to his dead familia...

“Okay, Dante,” Miguel says. “Good luck!” He finishes tying the shoelace to Dante’s foreleg and steps back to examine his handwork. A rolled-up letter dangles from where it’s tied to the other end of the lace, bouncing gently against Dante, who is, for once, standing almost-still.

Honestly, Miguel has no clue what he's doing. Can living objects enter the land of the dead if they are carried by an alebrije? Maybe it’s like the offerings, and a ghostly copy of the letter would be carried over. Or maybe Dante isn’t actually going to hang out with his family, or maybe the letter wouldn’t work, and what if Miguel won't be able to see any letters his family tries to write back? These kind of technicalities weren’t exactly the kind of thing your abuelita told you about when she was telling stories about your dead ancestors or lecturing you about your heritage.

Staring at the more-than-slightly desperate sight before him, Miguel sighs. “Why can’t alebrije talk? You’re spirit guides, after all. Disney’s animals always can, you know? That would make this so much easier.”

Dante just stands there, panting tongue looping happily around his muzzle. He idly raises a paw and scratches at the letter, shaking the empty sheets of paper and pens Miguel had tied to his other legs.

“In stories, when people figure out there’s a secret spirit world, there’s someone to tell them all sorts of stuff about it. How the rules work. And I guess I understand enough about how the dead interact with the living, thanks to Héctor and Mamá Imelda and everyone, but the only way living can really interact with the dead, as far as I know, is to remember them.” Miguel slumps on the curb next to Dante, kicking his feet, and sighs. “That’s fine. Whatever. But I really wish I could at least know for sure if this was impossible, so I don’t spend the next eighty years creating increasingly ridiculous plans to get in touch with the dead half of my family."

Dante grins up at him.

“So....is it possible?”

Dante rolls over onto his back and whines. Miguel sighs, and goes in for a scratch.

Honestly. Weren’t alebrije supposed to be respectable or something?

 

 

 

iv.

Against all odds, it does work. 

Miguel had sent more shoelaces and paper and pens along with his letter, just in case his gamble paid off. Every morning, as he walks by Dante’s trash can, his footsteps slow with anticipation, but nothing. The days tick by, one, then another, and with every new morning, Miguel's hopes swoop a little lower. He has no guarantee this will work. It’s a complete shot in the dark. 

Four days after he sends Dante to his dead family members, he hits the jackpot.

Dante comes roaring out of the garbage can as Miguel strides by, slobbering up a storm. The paper, pens, and shoelaces are all gone, and so is Miguel’s original letter. Now, tied to Dante's leg with a faded old shoelace is an ancient, yellowed piece of paper--but even so, it’s definitely legible, since every inch is covered with painfully familiar handwriting. There’s Héctor’s thin, messy loops that he knows from his letters, and the thick lines he’s seen in some of the older Rivera recipes and shoe-making instructions, and more besides that he’s spotted throughout his home, in picture albums and in the workshop, all of his life.

There’s also the delicate, spidery script of Mamá Coco.

It’s been more than a year. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to talk to her for a very, very long time.

Miguel collapses down on the curb next to Dante with a thud, not even thinking of being careful with the aged paper he holds until it tears from his roughness. He curses, and flattens it out. Just a small tear, but...still.

Dante flops down next to him, then headbutts him in the side, tongue lolling. Reaching one hand down to absentmindedly scratch at between Dante's ears, Miguel reads ravenously.

Nothing in the letter is extraordinary. It’s a chorus of joy, and everyone sounds a little too much like his Abuelita at her gushiest, as they practically scream his praises for figuring the letter system out...there's also plenty of praise in the letter for Dante, who stares without comprehension at the letter that proclaims him to be "absolutely one of the best alebrije ever".

There’s catch-up--Héctor is doing much better, Mamá Imelda has made peace with him and is happy to have her husband and daughter with her, Mamá Coco scolds him for getting up to so much trouble last year, but thanks him anyway. There’s business, since Felipe and Oscar have made a new modification to one of their old loafer designs that they’d like for him to suggest to the living side of the family. There’s all the developments of the Land of the Dead since de la Cruz was outed as a murderer and a thief, there’s thanks upon thanks for putting up Héctor's photo, there’s jokes, there’s half a melody Héctor's been working on, there's an outpouring of all the affection that they’ve wished they could give directly to their living family for so long--Miguel blushes as he reads his family’s raving reviews of the song he and his cousins had performed on el Día de la Muerte.

(But hey, at least they were there? Just like he’d hoped, Héctor had been playing right alongside him.)

Dante looks up at him, and whines. Dante’s eyes are the same as always, just as bright and cheerful in that doggy way as they always were, but his fur flickers in the daylight, now. Pink and green and blue traces through it where the lights hit it, and when you look at him from the corner of your eye, patches of his fur seem to glow.

Miguel carefully puts the letter to the side, then leans down and kisses him right on his wet nose. “Good boy,” he says, and Dante promptly tackles him to the ground and begins to aggressively slobber up his face in retribution.

 

 

 

v.

The next year, Miguel quietly adds a few extra items to the ofrenda.

Several weeks before el Día de la Muerte, Miguel writes his familia muerta and asks them if they have any requests. The answer is a fast, resounding "yes". Miguel volunteers to do most of the set-up for the ofrenda yet again, and positions everything with extra care this year. Along with all of the traditional flowers, photos, food and drinks, and candles, he makes sure to leave space for a few extra items. He makes room for several bowls of the Rivera family’s special recipes, and places some of the frames on top of carefully-chosen picture albums. He also adds pairs of the newer models of shoes that they'd wanted to take a closer look at to the table, and stealthily places a bottle of Héctor and Mamá Imelda's favorite tequila at the very back of his set-up.

Miguel also balances Héctor's old guitar on one side of the ofrenda, propped up against the wall and cushioned on a set of clothes he’s pretty sure will fit Héctor--although Héctor's probably bought some new clothes by now, or maybe they’ve mystically regenerated now that his family remembers him. It seems like that's something that would happen in a place that runs on memory. _Still_ , Miguel thinks as he neatens the folded dress shirt, so different from the bedraggled rags that had slumped around Héctor's brittle skeleton last time he’d seen him, _it's something._

His family shoots him questioning looks when they see his additions, but they mostly leave it without comment. Well, his Abuelita kisses him and says, “Mi mijo, you’re such a sweet boy,” which is a little embarrassing considering he’s already fourteen, but she means well.

He gets a letter from the rest of his familia only a few days later, filled with gratitude. Héctor loves his new clothes, and Imelda writes, word-for-word, “Mi mijo, you’re such a sweet boy.” Miguel can’t help but snicker at that; he doesn’t want to lose his Abuelita for a long, long time, but when he does, he’ll rest assured that she and her grandmother are getting on like a house on fire in the Land of the Dead.

 

 

 

vi. 

Miguel does end up working as a shoe-maker, after school and on weekends and vacations. For a while, at least.

The thing is, he doesn’t hate shoes, and he does love his family, and his family loves shoes. So why not? His Abuelita helps him learn to stitch the leather, and his father teaches him how to nail the heel and sole to the to the rest of the shoe. His uncle shows him how to shape the toe just right, and even his cousin passes on the fastest way to attach eyelets to the facing. Working with them is fun. They gossip and talk, and laughter is always ringing throughout the workshop. Miguel likes the stories, especially. These days, he always finds himself asking questions about his familia muerta. It’s a lot easier to understand and relate to decades-old love stories when you’ve actually met the people in question, and have confirmed that they are indeed awesome.

In the end, shoe-making isn’t nearly so bad as he thought it would be. He practices guitar in the remainder of his spare time, notes and lyrics resounding from his corner of the workshop or anywhere else in the house, whenever he likes. His family joins in, too. Not always, but sometimes his mother will hum along, or one of his uncles will start to harmonize, almost thoughtlessly. And they’ll stop when they realize what they’re doing, and look around for a flying shoe, and then remember that the Rivera’s hundred-year ban on half of its soul is over, and they will begin to sing again. Rosa and Abel both end up taking up instruments, and on lazy nights they’ll all end up in the courtyard together, playing back and forth, call and response, and sometimes Miguel can’t believe that this is his life, it’s too much of a dream come true. He’s going to wake up tomorrow with the family curse still intact.

(Then he looks at the latest batch of letters from his familia muerta, and maybe sends them a new one, because life is as strange as fiction.)

His relationship with the his cousins has never been great, but the music ends up saying what words don’t. Sometimes, Rosa even talks to him in school, now, despite being a full grade above him and having sworn on her immortal soul two years ago that she would rather endure a three-hour session of tongue-lashing from Abuelita than ever, ever associate with him outside of the house. Abel...well, he still mostly keeps to himself, but he actually invited Miguel to go to the store with him for some ice cream the other day, which was pretty great. The adults, meanwhile, are just happy to have him with his family, not constantly holing himself away to play music, in his--in hindsight, fairly stomach-turning--shrine to de la Cruz. 

So now there’s shoes and music and family, and maybe Miguel doesn’t love shoes, but shoes are kinda family, and between all of that and the knowledge that he’s got some truly amazing people waiting for him on the other side of life, Miguel would say he’s pretty blessed.

**Author's Note:**

> “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”― George Bernard Shaw
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcomed.
> 
> You can find more stuff written by me on [my tumblr](http://noip13.tumblr.com/).


End file.
